


Sleep Awake

by dadpathetic



Series: The ‘Mother Mother’ Trisha Lives AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Angst, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Domestic, F/F, Lesbian Riza Rights, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Promised Day, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Trisha Elric Lives, no beta we die like men, the boys are like seventeen and sixteen for reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25156981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dadpathetic/pseuds/dadpathetic
Summary: Riza can’t sleep.“I sleep with one hand on my 45, the other on my baby’s waist.”- Sleep Awake, Mother Mother
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Edward Elric & Riza Hawkeye, Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Trisha Elric/Riza Hawkeye
Series: The ‘Mother Mother’ Trisha Lives AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822435
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Sleep Awake

**Author's Note:**

> So this one shot is part of an extensive Trisha Lives AU I’m planning out! 
> 
> Title is from the Mother Mother song of the same name.

Trisha’s breathing is deep, really and truly there next to her. Riza can almost envision her heart beating solid in her chest, against her healthy (sometimes she has to remind herself of that particular descriptor) lungs. She thinks, thinks hard, about Trisha’s heart pumping blood. Trisha’s blood, in her chest and not spilling from her throat, not coating her palms, not soaking cloth around a gunshot wound. Riza distantly remembers the shock of finding her father’s limp body slumped over Roy’s shoulder in her childhood home, his blood drying crimson on his chin, and somehow that seems so much more impersonal than the feeling of seeing Trisha sleeping peacefully beside her. She itches to grab one of her guns.

She’s far too aware that normal people don’t sit awake at night feeling so raw the feeling of losing someone who is right next to them. Normal, Riza has to tell herself, and not healthy. She would much rather admit that she’s some sort of abnormal specimen of a human being than admit that she isn’t healthy, isn’t strong enough to hold up herself and everyone around her. Riza is almost certainly healthy. She has so much of her heart left beating that Trisha and the boys could easily each take pieces of it for themselves over and over again, but they wouldn’t, and sometimes that’s what scares her. She is far too whole and yet far too broken, like china tackily glued back together, ready to break at the slightest touch, crumble at the slightest tug.

Van Hohenheim, from what her lover says, was much like that. The cracks in his dishes, however, were filled with precious gold and silver. Riza knows, she knows, Trisha speaks of her much the same way she does her late husband when she thinks the blonde isn’t listening, sometimes even when she knows she is. But the feeling stays, pulls up a chair in the space between her ribs and whispers doubt after doubt to her. Riza cannot allow herself to believe Trisha would ever love her anywhere near as much as she is loved.

The boys are sleeping one room over, and though Ed’s deep snoring is audible through the thin plaster, she wishes she could hear Alphonse’s light breaths.

Riza thinks again of Trisha’s heart, bigger and stronger than her own and so much more selfless. She can give herself over to others so easily, let them into her heart and share the space between her ventricles like a small home. Riza thinks specifically of the places they’ve both made in their hearts for her sons. Trisha’s heart was carved open for each of them respectively the moment she knew she was carrying them. In contrast, Riza knows her heart was opened against her will entirely, and it would be easy for her to blame Roy for sending her to keep watch over them, but she can’t bring herself to begrudge a man like him for wanting to see two children make their mother happy, and she isn’t particularly angry that she developed three extra weaknesses each with the name ‘Elric’ plastered across the front. Besides, she thinks with some mirth, it’d hardly be fair to go on the offensive against a blind man, no matter how dangerous and bloodstained his hands may be. Riza supposes she will always have to be Roy’s eyes, one way or another.

Her back is starting to ache from how hard she’s pressing it up against the bed frame ramrod straight in an effort to easily survey the entire room in one quick glance. She realizes that she will most likely have to sleep soon whether her brain has slowed down or not. She doesn’t want to let go of how easy it is to hear every sound in the dead of night, how simple it is to protect her little family from any threat that may stumble into their makeshift domesticity. 

Carefully, Riza extracts herself from under the quilted comforter and pads down the stairs, convincing herself that she’ll sleep easily after checking the front and back doors and grabbing a glass of milk from the icebox. She has to remind herself not to panic when she sees the low, flickering light of a candle coming from the kitchen; she lives with three other people and a dog after all, though she sincerely doubts Hayate somehow learned how to light a candle in the hour or so since she had seen him. 

Riza slowly peers round the corner to see Alphonse pouring over some old book by candlelight, a small leather bound notebook with his neat handwriting scrawled in it lying on the table as well. He must be rather absorbed in whatever sort of research he’s doing, as he doesn’t even notice her slip past him to get to the icebox. It almost scares her how much the boys remind her of one Roy Mustang when he was only a few years older than either of them, learning under Riza’s father and putting so much himself into it that it seemed like he had nothing else on his mind at all. She does her best to cast aside thoughts of bodies dropping to the ground. She tries to ignore how easy it is for her to recognize the smell of burning flesh. Riza Hawkeye hopes more than anything else in her life that Edward and Alphonse will never see the things that she and Roy have seen. 

She goes to slide into the seat across from her pseudo son, only pausing for a brief second to ruffle his golden hair on the way. Riza relishes the way he smiles up at her, tired but still full of so much love it makes her heart almost burst out of her chest, before looking back down at his notes. 

“What are you doing up so late?” He hums in thought for a moment, and if she didn’t trust Al’s honesty as much as she does, Riza would assume he’s thinking up a convincing lie. Sometimes she has to stand back and remind herself that this family never stops thinking. Other times she is far too aware that that’s why she slotted into it so easily. 

“Mei sent me some notes to look over, we’re working on linking her personal research with mine,” he answers, and Riza feels nothing but pure love for him in that moment. Love for his intelligence, for his easy willingness to accept her as a second mother, for his passion and drive, the stubborn temper (though certainly not as fierce as his brother’s) that reminds her of Roy and Trisha alike, his kind nature. She can’t help the overwhelming pride that she feels knowing she had even the smallest part in making Alphonse the person he is now. 

“Double checking the purification arts with our alchemy is a lot of work, and Brother snores so loud that I had to come work down here.” The soft chuckle he gives her is nothing short of angelic. Often she needs reminders that joy and humor still exist freely in the same world that has caused so many people such terrible suffering. 

“Your mother and I can hear him through the wall,” Riza says, huffing a small laugh through her nose. She downs the rest of the milk in her glass and gets up to place it in the sink to be cleaned tomorrow.

“Goodnight,” Al chirps up at her, and she can’t stop herself from ruffling his hair again.

“Goodnight, Alphonse. Make sure you get some rest.”

She tries her best to go upstairs and push into her bedroom silently, but the first thing Riza notices when she steps through the door is Trisha’s eyes are open and watching her, blinking owlishly in a way that says the woman had just woken up. 

“Are you okay, dear?” And isn’t it just so pathetic the way that pet name makes Riza’s heart flutter like the first time she heard it all over again. She is only human, after all, and humans are weak by nature.

“I’m alright, did I wake you?” She whispers it as softly as possible. Riza would never want to interrupt anything of Trisha’s at all, the thought is unequivocally terrible to her. But Trisha simply chuckles and pats at the empty bed sheets next to her.

“Don’t worry about that silly, come back to bed and I’ll be back to sleep in two seconds flat,” Trisha starts. “You’re thinking far too loudly, come lay down.”

And Riza… does. She slips back under the comforter and settles against her pillow as Trisha burrows her head against her chest. They settle locked against each other like two matching puzzle pieces, Riza’s hold protective and loving and unwavering. She may not deserve this little slice of happiness in the shitty pie that is her life, but like hell she isn’t going to revel in it. Riza knows, perhaps better than any person ever should, the value of small moments like this in the grand scheme of a person’s life. She will hold onto every moment she gets with her love, and she will cherish every talk with those boys, because life is fleeting and that’s all she can do. But for now, she’ll just sleep.


End file.
